


Siren Song

by Chifuyu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternative Universe - Mermaids, Companionable Snark, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MerMay, Mermaids, Mythical Beings & Creatures, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 20:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18972280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu
Summary: As a child, his father had often told him fantastic stories about merfolk and their hidden kingdoms; stories about how they lured unassuming fishermen and sailors in with their otherworldly beauty and sweet voices. A young Kylo had dreamed of a beautiful mermaid finding herself in his nets one day. As a young man Kylo had considered these stories fairytales and humbug, with as little truth to it as any of his father's tales. Hux is nothing like the mermaids in these tales.





	Siren Song

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little thank you fic for [Cubedcoffeecake](https://twitter.com/cubedcoffeecake) over on twitter because they were so help me out during a very rough time! Thank you so much for being so patient with me and for being so kind.
> 
> A huge thank you also to [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) who made the edit to this fic. I'm always amazed by your sense of aesthetics. It's marvelous.
> 
> And last but not least, thank you so much [Koutiestark](https://twitter.com/koutiestark) for going over this mess and making it readable. You're the best!

The sea is a cruel mistress. Never before has Kylo felt the truth of this ancient fisherman’s wisdom as keenly as today. His ears are ringing with the echo of the howling winds, his lips chapped and dried out by the salty spray hitting his face.

It was a foolish thing to set sails today, but the teasing murmur of the sea and the prospect of a good haul had proven too tempting once again. So he had set out and braced the water, despite his better judgement. It hadn’t taken long for the skies to darken and a rolling thunder rumbled over Kylo, quickly followed by scouring rain and waves so high, they threatened to overthrow Kylo's tiny fishing boat.

Now, the air is alive with the sound of cruel voices, laughing sweetly, so magnificently entertained by his peril. They have Kylo's blood boiling.

“Laugh all you want!” He screams into nothingness, his mouth filling with water. “I’ll catch you one day! And when I do, you'll be begging for something as sweet as death!”

Another chuckle—menacing as a seagull's—is his only answer. When Kylo pulls in his net, it is torn.

He returns home empty-handed, his prey having slipped through his fingers once more. Frustration  curls tight in his belly, and the stale bread he has for supper, dipped into milk to make it easier to swallow, is any consolation. It should be sweet—as a child there was no greater treat than a slice of freshly baked bread, dipped in milk, slightly sweetened with a pinch of sugar—but the food is salty on his tongue. No matter how vigorously he has cleaned his face and hands already, the taste of the sea lingers.

 

* * *

 

Mother Nature is kinder to him the next day. His net—which he had painstakingly mended the night prior, sitting by candlelight until the wax dripped down his wobbly desk and the flame went out with an ashy puff—fills up quickly, the silver armor of the fish glittering in the sunlight. After an hour he has caught enough to last him a week and then some. Part of it he'll trade for eggs, milk, bread and butter in the small village up the hill, the rest he'll cure and dry.

By noon, it's as if all the fish in the sea have found their way inside his net. Already, their salty smell is beginning to permeate the air around him. It's high time he returns home, lest he risks to burn his skin in the merciless sun. He needs to gut and scale the fish, see if the red cat with the crooked ear is napping on his window sill again. She'd want the waste.

Perhaps he should go for a swim, try to cool off and relax his sore muscles. He has earned it, or has he not?

Kylo blinks, once, twice and then shakes his head.

“I was wondering when you'd show up,” he grumbles as he bends over the railing. “Was that storm yesterday your doing?”

The creature—the half-man offers him a shrug, neither denying nor admitting to the deed.

“Sometimes a storm is just a storm,” it argues, the vibrant curl of his brow incensing Kylo further.

“And sometimes it's not,” he shoots back.

“You're thinking too highly of yourself.”

Hux—that's the creature's name—looks up at Kylo, his tight-lipped expression one of unconcealed disapproval. Kylo is all too familiar with it. Since the first time they met they've known nothing but contempt for each other.

More than once Hux has tried to lure Kylo into the deep sea and more than once has Kylo's answer been a well-aimed throw with his rusty harpoon. Never has he managed to even grace the mer's skin.

As a child, his father had often told him fantastic stories about merfolk and their hidden kingdoms; stories about how they lured unassuming fishermen and sailors in with their otherworldly beauty and sweet voices. A young Kylo had dreamed of a beautiful mermaid finding herself in his nets one day. As a young man Kylo had considered these stories fairytales and humbug, with as little truth to it as any of his father's tales. Hux is nothing like the mermaids in these tales.

“You wish to be impaled on my harpoon so badly?” Kylo spats, reaching for the weapon.

The merman raises a copper-red brow.

“Has your aim got any better then?” He asks and flicks his golden tail, the motion sending drops of water flying.

The first time Kylo saw Hux, he thought he had gone mad. The long, lonely hours spent out on the open sea finally taking their toll. He had swum up to Kylo's boot, his eyes filled with tears and his full lips tinted blue. When Kylo reached out—assuming the stranger was a castaway in need of rescue—the look of helplessness and fear on Hux's face had transformed into a vicious snarl. He lashed out and tried to pull Kylo under.

Only Kylo’s quick reflexes and speed had saved him that day.

“Do you wish to die so badly that you seek me out every day? There are easier ways to achieve that,” he grumbles.

Hux clicks his tongue, showing a row of pearly-white, eerily sharp teeth.

“If I wanted to die I wouldn't trust a bumbling idiot like you with the task.”

As a young boy, Kylo had always imagined merfolk to be beautiful people, otherworldly and irresistable, soft hair framing delicate features like a blushing bride's veil. What he hadn’t imagined were eyes burning with contempt and a sharp tongue that knew how to cut deeply. After their first disastrous meeting, Hux had looked at him coldy from underneath his translucent lashes, as if he had judged Kylo and deemed him lacking. It’s true, Hux is of delicate stature, and his high cheekbones and full lips create a remarkable contrast that always leaves Kylo feeling inexplicably nervous, but all his superficial charm does little to counterbalance the scowl permanently marring his face.

“It burns you,” Kylo says, a cruel edge seeping into the deep drawl of his voice. “That your powers are useless against me.”

Hux's haughty expression crumbles, for a heartbeat, before it transforms into a venomous snarl.

“What do you know of my people? You're only human. The son of scoundrel and a disgraced woman.”

Kylo is given no opportunity to argue with the prickly mer—not that there is much to argue about—for he disappears into the deep waters with a flick of his golden tail and one last haughty look.

 

* * *

 

Kylo is not the superstitious type, a rare specimen amongst fisherkind, but he has good instincts and knows to trust the feeling in his gut. He also knows with a certainty that there are creatures and wonders hiding in the depths of the sea that could bring a man to the brink of insanity should he dare and look too deeply. It has nothing to do with superstition that he can pick out the voices of the singing merfolk in the gentle roll of the waves and from among the crying of the seagulls and mournful ballads of the whales.

The villagers and other fishermen think him strange for it and would avoid him as much as possible, if it weren't for the fact that his nets are always full when the other men's stay empty. There are children to be fed and the people's distrust triumphs over their hunger for only so long.

It is just as well. When he still lived with his mother in the big city, things weren't much different, only that polite society had more subtle ways to shun a boy. Nature can be cruel, but it never is for cruelty's sake and so Kylo prefers its company to that of humans. Hux's company notwithstanding.

The mer is exceptionally irritating, having tried, and luckily failed, to drown Kylo or have his boat split on the rocks sometimes hidden in the shallow water. It's in the merfolk’s nature to desire mankind's downfall, or so his father used to tell him, but Hux seemed to take this more seriously than others of his kind. So far, Hux has been the only mer Kylo has encountered and also the only one who'd seek him out even when it became clear that Kylo wouldn't succumb to his magical powers that easily.

Today, he has made a game out of cutting up Kylo's nets again and taunting him by throwing the sorry remains back onto his boot.

“Are you not growing tired of this game?” Kylo grumbles as he picks up the wet pieces strewn across the deck.

“Are you not tired of hunting in my domain? Go back to your own people, human. You have no place here,” Hux is quick to reply, his long nails causing a bone-chilling screech as he drags them over the flank of Kylo's boat.

“The whole sea is your domain? Then you must be a person of great importance among the merfolk,” Kylo deadpans, too exhausted from a long day spent on the open sea, with the merciless sun burning down on him, to argue.

He leans over the railing, elbows resting on the scratched up wood. As expected, Hux is wearing his usual expression of disdain, though something in Kylo's words must have hit a nerve. There's a drop of uncertainty in his eyes, a hint of anger when he presses his mouth together in a thin line.

Nature isn't cruel for cruelty's sake, but Kylo is.

“Or is it that your own people find you as insufferable as I do and that's why you torment me day in, day out?”

Hux stares up at him, his soulless eyes so full of fury Kylo half fears he's about to make a grab for him and pull him under at last. But he does nothing of the sort. He turns, his golden tail a glittering dismissal as he dives back into the depths of the sea.

 

* * *

 

Hux doesn't show up the next day. Or the day after. It's just as well, Kylo keeps telling himself. The conceited mer has made his life miserable for long enough and a reprieve from him and his antics is more than welcome.

Kylo can fish in peace for once, his only company the cries of the seagulls, the gentle whisper of the breeze and his own thoughts. It's not the first time he and Hux have been cruel to each other. Have they not tried to kill each other? Hurt each other with weapons and with words, the latter much more frequent than the first. Surely, Kylo's words could not have cut so deeply that the mer has decided to shun him from now on.

Perhaps his interest has died down and he has found another unsuspecting fisherman to antagonise. The mere thought sends a spike of untoward rage shooting through Kylo's chest. 

“Coward!” He bellows, startling the seagull that had made itself comfortable on the hull of his ship. It flies off with an indignant shriek but Kylo pays it no mind.

His cry goes unheard. Hux does not rise from the depths of the sea in a flurry of anger and wounded pride. No sudden wave upsets Kylo's boat, and silence settles over him once more.

A day passes, then two, and soon a week has gone by without a sign of Hux.

Kylo no longer heads out to fish—he has caught enough in these last few days to last him a month if he's careful—but he sets sail to roam the sea nonetheless. A queer restlessness has taken hold of him and so he ventures as far as he dares in his small boat, always hoping to catch a glimpse of a golden scale as it reflects the sunlight, or a strand of copper moving just beneath the water.

His search is futile and already the seagulls above are laughing at him, or so he believes. Even the swarm of dolphins that sometimes accompanied him on his search have lost interest.

Perhaps he's dead, a traitorous voice in the back of his head whispers. Kylo is quick to shut it out. Too late, he soon comes to realize. The seed is planted and has taken root.

Can mermen die? Do their lifeless bodies sink to the bottom of the ocean like a whale’s, where they become fertile ground for other species? Are Hux’s golden scales falling away from rotting flesh and tempting gullible fishermen, who believe they have stumbled upon a sunken treasure? Anger rises quickly in his throat at the thought, the burning hotness of it as familiar as a mother’s touch. What should it matter if Hux were dead? It is none of Kylo’s concern.

In the end, it's a storm which leads him to Hux. Of course it is; what else could it have been?

Storms at sea are a dangerous thing, much more so than at land, and thrice as unpredictable. One moment the sky is a brilliant blue, the next it's black as night and thunder rolls in the distance.

Kylo makes it halfway to the coast before the storm is upon him. He doesn't even have time to take in the sail. It’s not long before they're torn to shreds, fluttering helplessly in the wind. Might as well die here then, he thinks grimly. The irony that Hux is not here to witness his demise—even though he has spent many a fruitless hour trying to invoke it—isn't lost on Kylo.

He can no longer see the horizon, the turbulent water and black sky conflated into a rolling mass. His mouth is filled with water, making him retch and his nostrils burn from the salt. Soon, time has lost all meaning. He doesn't know how long the sea is playing her cruel game with him already, his boat tossed around like a child's folded paper boat in an oily puddle. The planks are creaking, barely holding together and there is nothing Kylo can do but to endure it and hope against hope that this won't be the end.

When the clouds dissipate and his boat has remained in one piece, Kylo is too weak to appreciate his luck. Lying on his back and with his wet hair clinging to his forehead, he stares at the brilliant blue sky above him. He only pulls himself up again when seagulls start to wheel above him, moving closer with every circle, until one has the audacity to land on the railing and nip at his hair. He scares it off with a weak wave and a growl, more pathetic cough than sharp warning. Groaning, he pulls himself up on his elbows, spitting out more water—there's nothing else left inside his stomach—and peers over the railing.

He's no longer on the open sea. Though he can still see it stretched out before him while, to his side, sharp cliffs grow into the sky. It's nothing short of a miracle that Kylo's small fisherboat hasn’t split on these natural walls and he breathes a sigh of relief. A second, closer look reveals that, through sheer luck or divine intervention, Kylo has stranded in a small bay, hidden from the outside world by the aforementioned cliffs, with only a small opening to the sea. There’s no beach to speak of, no white sands or softly swaying lyme grass. Only more jagged cliffs and pale limestone. A dreary kind of paradise.

As he’s letting his gaze roam, a shimmer of gold moving between the rocks catches his eye and a feeling of recognition comes over him. He's still weakened, still dizzy, but his curiosity is far greater than the lingering nausea. He makes a grab for his paddle (only one has survived the storm) and starts to row.

“Don't come any closer if you value your worthless life!” A voice calls out to him.

Kylo freezes, more out of surprise than of any inkling to follow a stranger's commands. He knows that voice. Though it's high-pitched with fear, less commanding than it would have been in other circumstances. The usual note of smug superiority entirely missing.

“Hux?”

The mer is in a pitiful state. His hair, usually a silky golden veil is matted with dirt, the bit and pieces of seaweed and conches tangled in those strands; his skin, though naturally pale, has taken on a sickly green parlor; his lips are void of blood and color.

If Kylo didn't know any better he'd think Hux was suffering from consumption. But who had ever heard of a mer stricken down by mortal ailments?

“Hux,” he tries, too startled to adopt his usual veneer of indifference. “Don't you recognize me?”

Hux peers at him from behind the rocks, his fingers clutching the dark stone tightly.

“I know who you are, Kylo Ren. But that doesn't render my warning null and void.”

Despite the sharpness of his voice and the severity of his threats, he makes no move to do good on them and attack Kylo. On the contrary, when Kylo paddles closer, he shrinks further away.

“You're hurt,” Kylo calls out to him, though he has no proof for such a claim. But what other reason would Hux have for staying in the shallow waters and clinging to a piece of rock as if it were a lifeline?

Hux startles, feverish eyes widening. He's afraid, Kylo realizes. Afraid that he’ll use this newfound knowledge to his advantage and make good on a promise given a long time ago: to catch and kill the mer and make jewelry from his golden scales to sell it to bored and vain townswomen. Gone is the glimmer of haughtiness brightening his eyes, gone the arrogant curl of his brow.

He's terrified of Kylo, fearing for his life. It's far less satisfying a sight than Kylo would have expected. Seeing Hux like this, with the lines underneath his eyes painting a picture of immeasurable desperation, Kylo can't bring himself to rejoice. There's no triumph swelling in Kylo's chest, no malicious glee making the tips of his fingers tingle in delight. Instead, a hesitant curiosity settles in between his ribs, and it is this very curiosity that lets him ask:

“What happened?”

Hux glares at him from across the water, face contracting in chaotic intervals, as if he was preparing to chastise Kylo for his audacity, before deciding against it at the very last moment.

“An accident,” he reveals after some inelegant fumbling, “and nothing you'd need concern yourself with.”

So he’s indeed hurt, and too weak to swim long distances, certainly too weak to return to the open sea, where he'd soon attract predators, human and aquatic alike.

Kylo doesn't know what compels him to do it—certainly not pity. They're enemies, but he'd never insult Hux's pride by pitying him—yet he finds himself offering:

“Let me take a look. I might be able to help?”

Hux stares, mouth hanging open in shock, and then he laughs, an ugly, cutting sound that has Kylo wincing.

“Help? You? Do you think me so foolish?” He has the audacity to roll his eyes at Kylo. “At least have the decency to be honest when you're about to end my life.”

Kylo huffs, already having grown tired of Hux's paranoia, justified as it may be.

“I could have killed you already if that had been my goal,” he argues. “I have no use for subterfuge anymore, not with you being this helpless.”

Hux may be a prideful creature, but he isn't stupid. As harsh as Kylo's words might be, he must know that they're also true.

After some tense moments in which neither of them dares say a word, Hux finally makes up his mind and come out of hiding from behind his rock, moving slowly, both due to his injury and his still lingering distrust of Kylo, or so he imagines.

“A truce then?” Hux proposes, still not close enough for Kylo to reach out to him.

“For now,” Kylo agrees, nodding slowly. He doesn't know where this sudden eagerness to help Hux is coming from—he harbours no intentions to use the mer's vulnerable state against him—and he refuses to examine this paradoxon any further than absolutely necessary. Had he won their little game, had he caught Hux in his nets at last, his victory would have felt empty with the knowledge that he had only achieved it because of a stroke of fate in his favor. Hux has nothing to fear from him, for now.

The mer approaches cautiously, head held barely above the water, only his bright hair and eyes visible.

When he reaches the boat, he hoists himself up and over the railing with a strength Kylo wouldn't have expected from somebody as waifish as him. He ignores Kylo's outstretched hand entirely.

It's the first time Kylo gets to see Hux's tail up close, in its full glory. Usually, he's only allowed small glimpses when Hux moves through the water, trying to upend his boat, or splashing water at him.

The tail is long, long enough to fill the small boat and barely leaving enough space for Kylo himself. It's of a golden color, the scales glittering in the sun and flaring up in a marvelous red when the light hits them just right. It's beautiful.

Kylo lets his gaze wander, shameless in his voyeurism even though he can feel Hux's disapproving gaze on him. It does little to deter him. He takes in every scale, commits their shape to memory as best he can before he moves on to examine the mer's fin, so thin it's almost translucent, the tips of it so sharp, Kylo has no doubt they could cut a man open, if Hux wished to do so.

“Are you done ogling me yet?” Hux's prissy voice pulls him out of his reverie.

He looks up, meeting Hux's gaze and noticing the indignant twitch of his nose. It's endearing in a way he doesn't bother to justify to himself and Kylo can't resist a thin smile, a mere twitch of his mouth.

Hux, of course, notices. The indignation in his expression deepens, his eyes narrowing as he shifts. He moves so much, for a few tense seconds, Kylo fears that they will keel over. Then Hux stops, his face contorting in what is undeniably pain.

“Show me,” Kylo urges and makes a grab for him. The skin is cold and clammy—of course it is, how foolish to expect anything else!—and Hux’s upper arm is so skinny, Kylo can easily put his hand around it, so that the tips of his fingers and thumb are touching. The realisation sends a shiver cascading down his spine and he pulls away from Hux as if burned.

There's little anger in Hux’s eyes when Kylo dares to meet his deep-set gaze again. Annoyance, of course, perhaps some irritation at being man-handled so, but underneath all this, is only confusion.

Kylo doesn't bother to explain himself.

“Show me,” he demands a second time, refusing to answer the unspoken question lingering in the air.

Hux doesn't say anything, though his sharp gaze lingers and makes Kylo's skin crawl. When he finally shifts to allow him a look at the underside of his tail, Kylo's breath catches in his throat. The wound is ugly; the scales are torn and blackened, some of them missing entirely to reveal white flesh devoid of blood. 

“What happened?” Kylo asks, knowing the answer already. He has seen these kinds of wounds before. On tuna and other fish, their scale armor ripped apart by a fisherman's harpoon, whole chunks of meat torn out of their bodies.

“An accident,” Hux grumbles, embarrassment coloring his pale cheeks a blotchy red.

He hesitates, unwilling to give Kylo much more than this, the hard muscles of his tail twitching as it presses against Kylo's side.

“An accident?” Kylo prods, disbelief colouring his voice.

“A miscalculation,” Hux admits at last, his nose twitching in irritation. “I was hunting. I may have underestimated the man.”

Realisation dawns on Kylo and he pulls back from Hux as much as the confined space allows.

“You got hurt, trying to lead another man to his wet grave?” He huffs, not caring for the childish indignity reverberating in his words.

His reproachful inflection isn't lost on Hux who, despite the surely painful injury he has sustained, has lost nothing of his virulence. He huffs, moves the fin of his tails still suspended in the water quickly back and forth so that a splash of water hits Kylo square across his face.

“And what do you care for it? Be glad it was another man and not you.” He pauses momentarily, eyes widening and narrowing again as the sly look of calculation overtakes his exhausted features. 

“Or is that what has you so agitated? That another would take what you consider your right? To maim and kill me, hang my bones above his fireplace, a tale to tell the children when they look at them with wide, fearful eyes?”

Kylo grunts, unwilling to say more, for what is there to say that would not have proven Hux's point? Instead, he grabs the single oar and starts to row, his muscles straining with the effort to move the boat with both him and the mer in it.

Hux doesn't ask any more questions, though the nervousness radiating off him is near palpable, an electric spark in the air that has the hairs on the back of Kylo's neck stand to attention.

When they reach the coastline, carefully avoiding the many sand banks lining the beach, Kylo can almost taste Hux's apprehension, that's how thickly the stench of fear is in the air. And yet, his expression remains unchanged, as stoic as ever. The illusion of control Hux is so adamant of upholding quickly shatters when Kylo slides an arms around the mer's back and another under his tails and lifts him out off the boat.

“Are you mad?” Hux all but screeches, his tail thrashing back and forth, nearly making Kylo fall.

“Possibly,” Kylo grunts and holds onto Hux tighter, not above feeling a cruel satisfaction when Hux whimpers in pain at the unrelenting hold. “Quit your struggling, I'll put you down now.”

Despite the harshness of his words, he tries to be gentle when putting the mer down, even going so far as to make sure that the fine sand does not get into the open wound on Hux's tail.

“Stay here,” he instructs Hux and, not waiting for a reply, turns back to his boat. It takes time until he finds what he is looking for and all the while he can feel Hux's curious gaze on him, but he returns victorious at last, holding up a flask of water and a metal box that shines like silver in the late evening sun.

“What is that?” Hux asks, fear and suspicion momentarily forgotten, captivated by the shining metal surface. Like most of his kind, he's easily enchanted with all things that glitter and gleam.

“Bandages,” Kylo explains brusquely. “And water to clean the wound.”

His resources are limited: a few bandages, a knife sharp enough to cut through meat and bone if necessary, a small flask of alcohol pure enough to burn out any wound. Enough to aid a lone fisherman in a time of need. Though perhaps not enough for a creature of legend and myth.

Kylo's knowledge of mer anatomy is limited, if not to say non-existent, but what choice does Hux have? Either he takes the help Kylo is so graciously offering or he dies a lonely, undignified death out here. It's all the same to Kylo. Or so he's telling himself.

Hux may enjoy antagonising him to the point of rage, but it seems even he knows when to shut his loose mouth and show some humility. He stays silent when Kylo presses his fingers to the frayed edges of the wound and washes away dried blood and bits of rotting flesh and bone with the clear water. Stays silent when Kylo pulls away to disinfect the needle and thread with alcohol. Doesn't even twitch when Kylo pulls the needle through his flesh and curses violently when it catches on one of his hard scales.

It's no easy work, Kylo only ever had to stitch together the bellies of dead fish after he has pulled out their entrails with his bare hands and filled their gaping underbelly with fragrant herbs and spices. A task like this requires a much more delicate hand and a dexterity Kylo fears he doesn't possess.

He's shaking by the time he makes the last stitch, pulling on the thread to tighten the seam and make a tight knot to hold it all together. That at least he knows how to do. What kind of fisherman would he be if he didn't?

“You should rest for a few days, else the wound might open again,” he tells Hux once he's done.

Hux's eyes, when Kylo looks up, are void of any of the gratitude Kylo would have expected. Instead, he's met with open suspicion. He doesn't say anything, though he doesn't need to for Kylo to know what the question is that’s burning on the tip of his tongue. He has no answer. Has no sufficiently convincing explanation for his actions other than such an end—mauled and left to die by a random stranger—seems too undignified for the person who he considers his personal nemesis, a twisted kind of possessiveness that’s beyond logic and reason.

They sit in silence until Kylo can no longer bear it, every nerve in his body tense, and he gets up, startling Hux, who was too busy examining the coarse strands threaded through his flesh to pay Kylo any mind.

“The sun will set soon,” Kylo tells nobody in particular and heads off into the woods that line the beach of this island, the line separating the two worlds as neat as if made by man.

It’s a cheap excuse and there's no doubt that Hux will look right through it but right this moment, that's none of Kylo's concern. Being in the mer's close proximity...it's unsettling. There’s more to it than the fear of the unknown and otherworldly common to all mankind and which not even Kylo can divest himself of. Hux is infuriating (certainly), annoying (no doubt about it), and, perhaps worst of all, endlessly fascinating. And this fascination extends far beyond his inhumanity, much to Kylo's chagrin.

He barges through the undergrowth, not caring for who or what might hear him, half hoping a wild animal might cross his path, so that he could tear it apart with his hands and teeth alone and succumb to the bloodlust boiling underneath his skin. Wood is cracking underneath his feet, as loud as gunshots, the sweet stench of flowers and other scrub assaulting his nose. It’s as if the forest itself objects to his presence, a perfect organism trying to push an invading virus out of its system. Fortunately, Kylo is a stubborn one.

Grunting, he breaks branches off lithe trees, knowing full well that the wood is too wet, too alive still to be used as kindle for a fire.

All too soon, he has collected enough wet wood to light half a dozen fires, holding it protectively in the curve of his arm like a newborn and yet, he hesitates to return. What exactly it is that's holding him back, Kylo can't discern, his emotions a complicated knot deep within his chest and impossible to untangle. Part of him hopes fervently that, when he returns to the beach, Hux is gone, leaving nothing behind but a barely discernible indentation in the fine sand, whisked away by the first breeze sweeping across the coast. Another part, a part previously unknown, feeling foreign and yet so undeniably him, hopes for another outcome entirely: that Hux is still there when Kylo emerges from the trees, victorious. He has no desire to impress the mer, far from it; his only wish is simply to prove, once and for all, who the superior man is—as much as Hux can be called a man.

Hux is still there when he returns, holding his head high and meeting Kylo's surprised gaze heads-on.

“You took your sweet time,” he complains as soon as Kylo is within earshot, as if he hasn't saved him from certain death, as if he couldn't still leave him here to rot, his corpse a feast for the scavengers roaming this island.

Kylo drops his armful of firewood and tinder before Hux, viciously pleased when the mer winces.

“I see you've missed me,” he retorts flippantly. It earns him a scandalized gasp from Hux and...is that the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks?

Hux opens his mouth, no doubt to spit out a scathing reply but Kylo's patience is running thin and his willingness to indulge in petty polemics with the other is diminishing. Instead, he gathers a handful of rocks, just enough to lay them out in a neat circle. When he places his tinder in the center of it, Hux speaks up.

“What are you doing?” he asks, an annoyed lilt to his voice that does precious little to hide the underlying curiosity.

“Building a fire,” Kylo explains brusquely and continues to pile bigger branches on top of the tinder until the whole structure resembles a pyramid.

“Fire,” Hux whispers, awed.

It dawns on Kylo then, that Hux, as a creature living in the depths of the sea, has never seen a fire, has never felt its warmth.

“A fire, yes. Because I refuse to freeze to death out here,” Kylo mumbles.

Hux asks no more but Kylo can feel his attentive gaze when he goes to retrieve his flint and steel set that he knows must be somewhere in his boat. When he finds the small linen bag containing steel and flint, he lets out a triumphant cry. Both have survived the unnatural storm unscathed, and even though the linen is still wet in places it sufficiently protected his tools.

It takes him a while—much longer than he would have prefered with Hux's watchful eyes on him—but in the end, a single spark illuminates the deepening night and the unmistakable crackle of burning wood fills the air.

Instantly, Hux's attention is caught by the flames licking up the logs of wood and slowly turning the thinner branches into ash. His eyes, usually the color of the sea during a grey winter morning, seem to burn with an all-consuming fever, amplified tenfold by the growing flames. The nonchalant disregard for everything human that usually dominates Hux's face is gone, replaced with the glow of fascination, the same that's usually only found in still gullible children and devoted fanatics.

Kylo can't look away. He's watching closely, enticed by the way Hux's already vibrant hair looks alive with the fire's light reflecting off it, as if he himself is burning, his crown of hair a magnificent halo.

So captivated is he by the sight in front of him, he only realizes that Hux has reached out with one hand to try and touch the fire when it's already too late and the mer pulls back with a hiss.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Kylo snaps at him and, without considering the implications and possible consequences of his actions, grabs Hux's hand and pulls it close to examine it for any injury and damage.

Already, the skin of Hux's index and middle finger is turning a worrying shade of red. No doubt it'll start to blister just as soon.

“Have you never seen a fire before?” he growls, acutely aware of how much smaller Hux's fingers are compared to his, so much more delicate and slender, the nails almost translucent but sharp enough to tear skin.

Hux tuts, regarding Kylo like an emperor would a lowly subject.

“Of course I have seen fire before,” he drawls, as if it hadn't been him who was foolish enough to try and touch fire itself. “When you use it to destroy those floating devices of yours.”

A valid argument that Kylo refuses to acknowledge. It seems that Hux, despite all his aversion for humans and their achievements, has spent no little time watching fishermen and other sea travellers. He had to, to learn about ships and warfare.

“Then why try and touch it?” he argues instead.

This time, Hux is not so quick with a reply. On the contrary, he lowers his eyes and turns to the side, mumbling something impossible to catch over the crackling of the fire.

“What?” Kylo barks, caught off-guard by the sudden realization that spreading on Hux's high cheeks is a blush of mortification, of embarrassment.

“Say that again,” he presses, not letting go of Hux's hand.

“I didn't know it is hot,” it bursts out of Hux at last.

Silence falls over them like a shroud, dragging on for what feels like an eternity until Kylo can no longer bear it. He breaks into laughter, the sound rising from deep within his chest, not malicious, not entirely at least, but certainly amused and, to an extent, charmed. How could he not be with this sudden and unexpected revelation.

Hux, using his free hand balled into a fist, punches him in the shoulder. Kylo allows it.

“It seems that you can still learn from us primitive humans after all,” he says, half teasing. “Things like, fire is hot and can melt the skin and flesh right off your bone.”

Some residue of surliness remains etched into Hux's features but he's quick to recover. He tilts his head and, contemplating Kylo's words for a moment, asks:

“How?”

It's not fear that makes him ask. Kylo knows fear intimately, has used it before to intimidate, to manipulate. No, Hux's eagerness to learn is born from something else: the recognition of potential.

“Why should I tell you?” Kylo asks, simultaneously intrigued and terrified by the hunger in Hux's voice. 

“Why not?” Hux shoots back easily and, careful not to put too much of his weight on his injured tail, inches closer. “What harm could there be in me knowing?”

What harm indeed.

“Don't take me for a fool,” Kylo says, the smell of fire and ash, of salt and the sea drafting up his nose. “You'd only use your newfound knowledge to do harm.”

“And you wouldn't?”

Kylo's eyes widen, his obvious puzzlement making Hux chuckle.

“Don't tell me, Kylo Ren,” he drawls, “that you care for any of your fellow humans. You're no philanthropist.”

And what do you know about me, Kylo wants to say but doesn't. Instead, he leans in closer, looming over Hux.

“Need I remind you that it was I who saved you, who treated your wound, made sure you wouldn't bleed out and die the undignified death you surely deserve?”

Hux's expressions darkens and a spark of defiance illuminates his face.

“You demanded not to be taken for a fool,” he growls, his tail thrashing. “Then afford me the same courtesy. We both know you didn't save me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Then why did I save you?” Kylo presses, close enough to count the pale freckles spread over the bridge of Hux's nose if he so desired.

Hux's voice drops to a low purr. “Because you couldn't bear the thought of anything or anybody else killing me. Because you believe that this privilege belongs to you and only you.”

Kylo kisses him. With too much teeth and tongue, moaning when Hux bites down and draws blood. He laughs when Kylo returns the favor. Hux tastes not like the sea, not like salt water or brine. He tastes like the fire he's touched without knowing it would burn, like ash and destruction.

When they part, Hux's mouth is smeared with blood, both Kylo's and his own. He's smiling, a smile as serene as the Virgin Mary's.

“Ah,” he sighs, licking at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve wondered what your blood would taste like.”

Kylo scoffs, disproportionately pleased with the satisfaction he has involuntarily brought Hux.

“I want more,” he growls. 

He has always been a greedy boy, his uncle has said so, as has his mother, with that fond undertone that did nothing to diminish the harshness of those words.

“Is that so?” Hux muses, his mouth glistening wet with the last remnants of blood. “Why should I give you more?”

He's playing with him, Kylo knows and doesn't care. How long Hux must have waited to have him in his thralls, how he must have yearned to bewitch Kylo and have him beg to be torn apart. He'll let him have that bit of satisfaction, that bit of triumph. If only he gets to lick his own blood off Hux's lips again.

“Because you want to give me more,” Kylo argues, impatience making him put an arm around Hux's narrow waist, his other hand still holding onto Hux's fingers tight. “Because this is all you ever wanted: to have me at your mercy, begging for your touch.”

Hux raises a brow in mild surprise. 

“You presume too much,” he argues for argument's sake. “And you're not quite begging yet.”

Insolent beast, always asking for more, more, more. Never quite satisfied, never quite content. 

Kylo can feel Hux's muscular tail curl around one of his legs, intimidatingly strong despite the wound, not slippery like he would have expected but smooth and cool to the touch.

“Kiss me,” Kylo demands once more, the words spat out like an insult, his tone impatient. He doesn't like to be denied.

But Hux is not one of the gullible villagers he trades with from time to time, not one of the grumpy fishermen who hate Kylo because they know he's better than them. Hux is a creature of the deep, who must have seen things Kylo could only imagine in his wildest dreams, a thing of legend with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind.

“Careful, Kylo Ren,” he says, his name on Hux's tongue a curse and praise all at once. "All men who have ever made such demands are dead now."

!Then they were weak and foolish," Kylo snipes back, his nails digging into the soft flesh of Hux's hips.

That, at last, earns him a small smile, cruel and sharp but all for him. 

“Perhaps, but what does that make you?”

Kylo answers by closing the distance between them to simply take what he desires.


End file.
